He makes me smile all the time. He's verbose and imaginative, saying things like, "What if YOU were the T and I was pulling you across the floor?" and "I think he was travelin'" and "Thank you, God for tables. . . and coffee tables."
He is such a sweet mix of boy and baby that it makes my heart ache sometimes. When I tuck him in bed he asks for memorized prayers that he can say with me. He tells me a little story or asks me to tell him the story I made up once and have retold many times; the story about a little boy named T and the tractor at the farm. Then he looks up at me with those same eyes that looked up at me from that baby face, and he slips his two fingers in his mouth and then searches for me with his other hand. . . And I marvel at this boy, who says so much and knows so much and brings so much joy; the boy that was my baby and is no longer my baby and yet will always be that same child.